A Conscious Conscience
by obeytherandomness
Summary: Sherlock has a conscience. He's always had a conscience. It just doesn't come from the same place as everyone else's does.


I do not own Sherlock

* * *

A lot of people say that Sherlock doesn't have a conscience, which is entirely untrue. He does have a conscience. It just doesn't come from the same source as the normal people. He's okay with that, though. I mean, who wants to be normal.

So Sherlock does have a conscience. It's just not always with him. Sometimes he leaves it behind when he races out the door to do something extraordinary and that's why people make the assumption that he doesn't have a conscience.

Of course, Sherlock doesn't know that he has a conscience. How would he be able to look his conscience in the eye and realize that that's just what it was? He could barely recognize right from wrong let alone a conscience. But he has one and he has had one since he was born just not in the way that people normally do.

* * *

Sherlock was a very loud baby. Every moment that he got to complain about something, usually just because he got bored of being stuck in his crib more often than not, he would throw a fit in order to get attention and other such things that he wanted. It wasn't hard to do in his family. All of the nanny's just wanted him to shut up and his parents didn't mind supplying that money to make it happen either. Only one nanny ever did anything about him though.

"Now Sherlock," she said with that disapproving look that she sometimes gave him. Sherlock was a toddler and learning more words than any others his age learned, but he still like to just throw tantrums every now and again just like every one else. It was the only way for him to get attention where he lived with Mycroft being such a genius. On this day he was throwing one of his louder ones because his parents were ignoring him again. He had already broken two priceless vases and was getting ready to break his mother's favorite one when the nanny came up to him. "That is no way for a smart you man like yourself to act. You have to use your words."

"Mummy won't listen to me," Sherlock pouted. "She's too busy with fatty."

"Sherlock," the nanny scolded disapprovingly even though she still had a small grin on her face that she was trying to fight back. "It's not nice to call your brother names."

Sherlock made a face at being scolded for speaking what he only thought was the truth, but he chose not to say anymore while the nanny continued.

"It's also Mycroft's birthday today. I think that he deserves the attention that he's getting right now."

"But they always look at him," Sherlock whined.

The nanny smiled and crouched down so that she could whisper into Sherlock's ear. "Why don't we do something to catch their attention then," she said conspiratorially. Of course this caught Sherlock's, who was a mischievous child always looking for a challenge, eye and he began to listen to her plan.

* * *

The plan wasn't really anything special. The only thing that they really did was stop Sherlock's constant fits, though he still threw them every now and again just for fun, and start teaching him things that were vastly beyond his age group. It wasn't long before his mother noticed that he was starting to excel quicker than her eldest son because Mycroft was a genius, but Sherlock was smarter still.

The nanny wasn't with Sherlock all the time. She only came to him when she was absolutely necessary to stop particularly brutal fits that Sherlock liked to throw when he was particularly upset. Other than that she wasn't needed to keep Sherlock in line because it was expected that a child of his age would act up every now and again. Sherlock always just assumed that she had other duties to tend to.

This system with the nanny, however, only worked inside his mother's mansion. She could not go with him when he started going to the school. She accompanied him to the school, but she was never allowed onto the school property. She was forced to leave him there with nothing more than the words "be good," ringing in his ears as he turned to face the students that he knew were going to be cruel to him.

Still, it didn't matter because he was expected to act out as a young genius in all of his classes. It was only natural and no one really cared if his conscience was missing. At least, until the day came when he entered into middle school.

The nanny must have seen this problem coming, though because she introduced him to the chemistry teacher on his first day. The man was nice and he always made sure to find Sherlock in any lab that he seemed to sneak off to during class.

* * *

"You know you're not supposed to be in here without supervision," the chemistry teacher said as he slipped into the room behind Sherlock.

Sherlock just rolled his eyes even though he knew that the teacher couldn't see him. "You're here," he pointed.

"That's true," the teacher laughed, "but I only just got here. How long have you been here?"

Sherlock didn't even need to glance at the clock to know the answer to that question. "Two hours."

"Two hours?" the teacher raised his brow. "School only just ended. Did you skip classes again?"

"What difference does it make?" Sherlock growled as he adjusted the magnifying glass once again. "It's not like those idiotic people can teach me anything that I don't know anyway."

"Don't say that," the teacher sighed. "Just because you're smart, that does not give you the right to insult everyone else."

"Well if they would just think," Sherlock growls.

"We aren't you Sherlock," the teacher pointed out. "We don't think like you, but that doesn't mean that we don't think. Please remember that."

Sherlock sighed. He wouldn't apologize, he never apologized, but he supposed that his teacher was probably right. Just because they were being idiots and thinking the incorrect way, that didn't mean that they weren't thinking at all.

"Now what's this experiment then?" the teacher asked.

* * *

The chemistry teacher kept an eye on him throughout all of his school years while the nanny came to him whenever he was at home, but still that couldn't last. Sherlock was too smart to stay in school for too long and he soon had to go off to university.

He could have very well gone to a university nearby and stayed at home while he was attending it, that way he would at least still have his nanny by his side, but Sherlock was eager to get out of the house and away from his family. Both his nanny and his chemistry teacher understood. They actually encouraged him to move out. His chemistry teacher even suggested the school that he wound up going to and then he introduced him to a graduate student to help him through it all since he was still at such a young age when he entered university.

The graduate student's name was Victor and he was the first person who wasn't family that Sherlock could/chose to remember his name. He was the one who introduced Sherlock to chemistry and all the mysterious puzzles that went along with it because he himself was a forensic chemistry major. The two of them spent hours looking at old crime scenes to find out how the police solved their cases. Sherlock was always the first to figure it out, but Victor didn't really mind because it was fun listening to all of Sherlock's deductions.

* * *

"They're all idiots Victor," Sherlock yelled as he slammed into the lab that he and Victor always met at.

"Who are?" Victor asked as he lifted his head away from the microscope that he was looking through.

"The Yard," Sherlock growled.

"What did they do?" Victor laughed.

"Carl Powers," Sherlock said as he placed himself in the very seat that Victor had just got up from and began his own investigation of the cells under the microscope. Narrowing his focus on things like this always helped him calm down anyway.

"I don't know who that is," Victor pointed out.

"He's the swimmer who recently drowned in the pool in a freak accident," Sherlock explained without even looking up.

"Ok. And?" Victor prompted for more information.

"His shoes were missing!" Sherlock threw his hands up in exasperation.

"His shoes were missing?" Victor asked.

"Yes!" Sherlock hissed. "And no one will believe me."

"I don't understand Sherlock," Victor said. Even he had a hard time understanding a lot of the things that Sherlock said and he was the boy's tutor. "What is so important about his shoes being missing?"

"Well they weren't with the rest of his stuff so someone must have taken them," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's so obvious that the murderer has them, but the yard won't listen to me. They're all idiots."

"Please tell me that you didn't call them that to their faces," Victor laughed even though he was trying so hard to a straight face.

"Of course I did," Sherlock responded as if that was the only answer possible, "and then they kicked me out before I could explain to them just how stupid their idea of Carl Power's accidental death is."

"Oh God Sherlock," Victor laughed. "Of course they kicked you out. People don't take kindly to being insulted like that."

"I was only telling the truth," Sherlock said with a frustrated tone.

* * *

Again, it didn't take long for Sherlock to graduate from University, but he was still young and he still had yet to start his promising career as a consulting detective. He needed some other way to take care of himself and find a place to live since he refused to take any of the money that Mycroft continued to offer him. He had learned to turn a blind eye to the money that Mycroft sent him anyway, but he refused to ask his brother for help even when he was running low on money so he needed some other income. He needed a job.

Victor had just the thing. Apparently one of his old friends from his time as undergraduate had gotten a job teaching near Bart's. Sherlock was disgusted with the thought of actually having to teach idiotic people, but Victor assured him that Bart's also did a lot of research. Sometimes they were even asked to consult with the police on particularly hard investigations. That's what made Sherlock's mind up. He met Mike Stamford the very next day.

* * *

"I'm so bored!" Sherlock complained as he paced around his lab without any care of what fell over and spilled all over the place.

"What about that case that the Yard just brought in?" Mike asked.

"It's so obvious," Sherlock threw his hands in the air in annoyance. "I figured it out before they even gave it to me."

"Well the Yard doesn't seem to think so," Mike pointed out. "They're still investigating."

"I've already told them who the killer is," Sherlock waved his hands, "but they don't believe me. They're just going to prove my findings by doing all this useless investigating."

"Ah," Mike agreed. "You can't really blame them, though. You are just a scientist working as a researcher."

"I am not just a scientist," Sherlock sounded insulted. "I am infinitely smarter than all of those idiots at the yard."

"Ever consider becoming a detective?" Mike asked. "They might take you more seriously then."

"I am not going to become a PI," Sherlock wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"No," Mike agreed, "but, I don't know, maybe you could become a consulting detective or something. You already do the consulting here anyway."

"That's it!" Sherlock turned to Mike so quickly that his coat knocked over several flasks, which promptly fell to the floor and shattered. "A consulting detective. That's genius." Without another word, Sherlock turned and left the room.

Mike watched him go with a triumphant smile.

* * *

Mike was a kind man and he made sure to watch Sherlock while he was working in the labs, but, with the change in careers that Sherlock suddenly made, he no longer saw him that much anymore. Mike was lucky if he saw Sherlock once a month and that was all dependent on if there was a case with some sort of substance that Sherlock didn't trust the Yard to find out so he used one of these few equations to introduce Sherlock to one John Watson as a perspective flat mate.

John was a doctor who was just invalided home from Afghanistan after being shot, though it was inconclusive to Sherlock at the time where he had been shot since all of the fake symptoms that John's brain was making, and Sherlock immediate liking to him. So much so that he practically decided for John without even asking that he was going to stay at the flat that he just recently acquired on 221B Baker Street. He pretended to give John the time to decide, but what he was really doing was giving himself the time to convince him to stay. He also took this time to figure out just where John was shot by curing all of his psychosomatic injuries.

John Watson was almost always at his side and everyone called him Sherlock's conscience, much to Sherlock's annoyance, but John didn't really mind. He actually sometimes referred to himself as such without using any words.

* * *

"Gay," Sherlock muttered after one glance at the flamboyant man that Molly was dating before he turned back to his microscope.

"Sorry," Molly frowned. "What?"

"Nothing. Ehm…hey." Sherlock turned back to the man with a very fake smile and John couldn't help but to tense up in his military stance and ready himself for Sherlock's tirade. At least he wasn't doing it in front of the man, John's brain supplied, and hopefully he would wait for Molly to leave as well to go off about all of his deductions.

"Hi," Jim from IT smiled. The next moment there was a loud clatter as he accidently knocked something over and reached down to get it with several apologies. John turned away so he could hide the look of disapproving that he got for both Jim's antics as the man slipped his number under the tray and the fact that he knew this solidified Sherlock's reaction. "Well I'd better be off," Jim said in order to get himself out of the room before his not so subtle hint could be discovered. "I'll see you at the fox. Bout sixish?" he asked Molly as he passed her. He said his last goodbyes, focusing mainly on Sherlock, and then left the room.

"What do you mean gay?" Molly asked desperately. She had finally found a guy that she could get and now Sherlock was ruining it for her. "We're together."

"And domestic bliss must suit you well Molly," Sherlock turned to her. "You've put on three pounds since I last saw you."

"Two and a half," Molly argued.

"Mm, three," Sherlock replied.

"Sherlock," John tried to warn quietly. There was no need to tell a woman that she had gained weight.

"He's not gay," she said adamantly. "Why do you have to spoil-He's not!"

"With that level of personal grooming," Sherlock chuckled.

"Because he puts a bit of product in his hair?" John decided to jump in before this turn out to be really bad. Hopefully Sherlock would get the hint and shut up. "I put product in my hair." Just a bit of an extra hint.

"You wash your hair. There's a difference." Of course Sherlock was never very good at picking up on subtle social hints. "No. Tinted eyelashes. Clear signs of touring cream around the frown lines. Then there's his underwear."

"His underwear?" Molly looked so confused.

"Visible above the waistline," Sherlock took this as a sign to continue even though it clearly was not. "Very visible. Very particular brand. That plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here. I'd say you better break it off now and save yourself the pain." John couldn't watch anymore. He turned away as Molly ran out of the room and Sherlock gave a confused look of his own.

"Charming," John said sarcastically. He might as well tell Sherlock what he had done to make the girl so upset so hopefully Sherlock wouldn't bring it up again. "Well done."

"I was just saving her time," Sherlock said. "Isn't that kinder?"

"Kinder?" John was almost shocked that Sherlock actually thought that. "No. No, Sherlock, that wasn't kind."

* * *

People liked having John around. He was the best out of all of Sherlock's consciences because he never stopped himself from telling Sherlock just what he was doing wrong and he always knew how to say it in a way that Sherlock actually responded to. Instead of bad it was a bit not good, and instead of mean, it was not kind. Sherlock liked having John around, but then Jim had to go and threaten to kill John.

Sherlock would not allow anyone to kill his John. Even if that meant that he had to hurt him by dying then he would do it, but Sherlock had not intention of dying either. His only intention was to fake death and take down all of Moriarty's empire. He wanted to take John with him, but he couldn't have his conscience with him on this trip. Only after all of Moriarty's life's work had been destroyed, then he would be able to return and reclaim John as his blogger. Hopefully John would be able to wait for him that long.

It took three whole years for Sherlock to complete his task, but he finally finished it. After three whole years he could finally return to his home at 221B Baker Street.

* * *

Mrs. Hudson promptly fainted upon opening the door to a sheepish looking Sherlock Holmes. It took him all of 5 minutes to wake her back up and then another ten to coax words out of her shocked brain.

"My word," she said after getting over it. "You're back."

"Of course Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock smiled. "The case is done. I think some tea would do me good right now."

"Not your housekeeper," Mrs. Hudson responded automatically, which was exactly what Sherlock wanted. He just wanted everything to be normal again.

"A couple of biscuits too if you've got them," Sherlock continued.

"Not your housekeeper," Mrs. Hudson repeated. "Oh Sherlock, I've missed you so much. It's been so quiet without my boys here."

"Where's John?" Sherlock tensed. His homeless network had told him that, though he wasn't exactly taking Sherlock's death very well, he was still living in 221B Baker Street.

"Oh," Mrs. Hudson seemed to be lost for words for a moment. "You know he's just not been the same since you went away."

But Sherlock wasn't really listening. He was already rushing up the stairs. He threw open the door and found no one. He went to the kitchen and found no one. He went to John's room and found no one. He was beginning to get worried when he finally made his way to his own room and found John sleeping fitfully in his bed.

* * *

"I see you have come back to the living," Mycroft said through the phone the very next day. "It's all over the papers."

"Yes well John's blog is still very popular it seems," Sherlock sighed. The only reason he was even taking this call is because he felt he owed it to his brother after all the things that he had helped him with over the three years, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

"Yes indeed," Mycroft agreed. "How is the good doctor taking to your return?"

"Better than I expected," Sherlock admitted as he watched said doctor move around in the kitchen making tea. He had been expecting for John to punch him, cry, or maybe even faint, but he had not been expecting a tired grin when John woke up and a simple "I knew you'd come back."

"Indeed," Mycroft agreed again.

"Here you go Sherlock," John set his cup of tea before him and Sherlock promptly hung up on his brother so that he could focus on John without any unwanted distractions. "Did you just hang up on your brother?" John raised a brow.

"He's busy planning the next year of our government out," was Sherlock's only response.

* * *

Lestrade punched him the moment he stepped foot on a very interesting new case. "You deserve that you bastard," Lestrade growled, "making us all think that you were dead."

"Yes," Sherlock nodded. "Now can we get to this case?"

"Hold on," Lestrade said. "I haven't invited you to consult on this one."

"Yes well we all know you need me," Sherlock pointed out.

"God help me," Lestrade sighed. "Yes I do. Does this mean that John is back too?"

"Of course he is," Sherlock said. "He's right here." He pointed to John who just sighed and shook his head.

"Ah," Lestrade said. "Sorry John. I didn't see you there."

"Of course," John nodded and Lestrade stood there for a moment looking completely awkward before he finally allowed himself to turn and lead Sherlock onto the crime scene without another word spoken between the two that didn't have something to do with the murder.

* * *

"Sherlock," John said on the very next day after they had solved the case. "I think it's time that I showed you something."

"What is it John?" Sherlock asked. He wasn't actually interested because he was almost certain that he already knew all the things that John actually had to show him. He was the great Sherlock Holmes and it was very hard to hide things from him, but John surprised him.

"Put on your coat," he said. "I need to take you somewhere."

* * *

"Why are we at the cemetery John?" he asked. He really wasn't interested in seeing his gravestone again. He saw enough of it when he was watching John mourn over it. He would much rather be at home enjoying his couch and readying himself for a nice sulk about being bored.

Before John could answer, however, Sherlock's phone rang. "You should answer that," John said when Sherlock didn't make a move for his phone.

"It's probably just Mycroft," Sherlock shrugged.

"Answer your phone Sherlock," John responded.

Sherlock was surprised that John would actually demand something trivial like that from him, but he did as he was told. The last thing he needed was for John to be mad at him.

"What are you doing there?" Mycroft asked.

"I have no idea," Sherlock responded because he really didn't. His initial assumption that he was only there to see his gravestone was proven incorrect when John turned in the completely wrong direction.

"You need to go home," Mycroft said.

"John wants to show me something," Sherlock argued.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft practically yelled. Sherlock winced at the sound because Mycroft never lashed out unless he felt something was really important. The last time he had ignored Mycroft when he lashed out he had had to deal with Irene Adler and caused his brother and the government a lot of problems.

"John," he said. "I think we should go home now." But John had already stopped in front of a particular gravestone so Sherlock joined him. It didn't take Sherlock long to recognize the name on the stone and he dropped his phone as he realized just what it said. He could just barely hear his brother calling out to him from the phone, but he ignored it. "Mike's dead?" he gasped.

"Heart attack," John nodded. That wasn't much of a shock to Sherlock with all the weight that Mike claimed to have gained, but it was the year that he died that was really messing with Sherlock's head.

"He died a year before I met him," he whispered unbelievingly. John only nodded. "Why are you showing me this?" Sherlock asked him accusingly why did you have to show me this?"

"You were starting to figure it out," John said. "I was only speeding up the process."

"But how could he be dead before I met him?" Sherlock asked.

"Most people would automatically assume ghost," John shrugged, "but I think they were more of guardian angels trying to guide your way."

"They?" Sherlock asked. John only nodded so Sherlock was forced to come to his own conclusions. "Victor introduced me to Mike," Sherlock realized suddenly.

"He committed suicide when his graduate work became too much for him," John explained.

"And my chemistry teacher introduced me to Victor," Sherlock continued.

"He was killed for the money in his pocket," John replied.

"And my nanny introduced me to my chemistry teacher."

"She was Mycroft's nanny," John said. "She accidentally fell down the stairs and broke her neck. Whenever you talked to her, everyone just assumed that you had heard her name from someone and made up an imaginary friend."

"But," suddenly the realization that Sherlock didn't even realize he was realizing hit him with a full force that almost knocked him off hi balance. "Mike introduced you to me."

"_If you were dying," Sherlock had said. "If you'd been murder, in your very last seconds, what would you say?"_

"_Please God let me live," John had replied._

"_Oh use your imagination," Sherlock had scathingly replied._

"_I don't have to."_

"There's one more place I have to take you," John said in loo of a reply.

This time Sherlock did not argue as John took them to their next destination. Mycroft continued to call out to him through his forgotten phone at Mike Stamford's grave.

* * *

"Sherlock," John said once they had finally reached their destination. "Meet my sister, Harriet Watson." They were at Bart's and sitting in a chair just in front of Sherlock was a young woman who looked very much like John, but what really caught Sherlock's eye was John's body lying on the bed that she was sitting next to.

"No no no!" Sherlock yelled, catching the attention of Harrie. She turned to face him, but he was already gone. He was already rushing up the stairs to the rooftop. "This isn't possible John," Sherlock said.

"You just haven't finished working out all the facts," John replied patiently.

"You make the tea," Sherlock tried to argue.

"Mrs. Hudson makes the tea," John replied.

"You get the groceries," Sherlock continued.

"Mycroft gets the groceries."

"Mycroft kidnapped you."

"That's what he told you."

"_I've just had a lovely talk with your new friend Sherlock," Mycroft had said through the phone. _

"_Stop kidnapping my flat mate," Sherlock responded annoyed._

"_He didn't take the money that I offered him," Mycroft continued nonetheless. Sherlock hung up on him because that's all he needed to know._

"People talk to you," Sherlock's arguments were all falling apart just as quickly as he was making them up and he was desperately trying to find one that actually stuck.

"Mycroft likes to kidnap all of your acquaintances," John pointed out. "He's told them all about you. He thinks that you have some sort of delusions and, instead of sending you to a mental hospital, he decided to make everyone go along with what you saw so you wouldn't have a mental break down. That's actually how you started to realize that no one else can see me when both Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson didn't know where I was while you were gone."

"But what about the cabby?" Sherlock asked. "You shot him."

John shook his head. "You shot the cabby Sherlock."

_With one hand Sherlock raised the pill to his mouth and with the other he lifted the gun that he always kept hidden in the back of his pants. The cabby didn't notice because he was too busy watching the pill move towards Sherlock's mouth until the shot rang out. The backlash of the gun made him drop the pill and he turned to find who had shot the gun that was still in his hand._

"Then," Sherlock staggered and had to sit down on the ledge to gain back his bearings. "Then this whole time-It's all been in my head."

"No," John shook his head. "Just because you're the only one who can see us, that doesn't mean it's all in your head. Just like your deductions."

"Are you going to leave me now that I've figured it out?" Sherlock asked and he looked so much like an innocent child that it almost killed John with the guilt of what he had just revealed to his friend.

"Not if you don't want me to," John replied.

"I don't want you to go," Sherlock said almost immediately, but he knew how selfish these words were so he amended them to, "but you need to wake up before its too late." John nodded and he disappeared just as the door to the roof burst open and both Mycroft and Lestrade came rushing onto the roof. Both of them froze when they saw where Sherlock was sitting.

"Let's not do anything drastic," Lestrade tried to say soothingly, but Sherlock wasn't listening to him.

"I want to go home Mycroft," Sherlock said as he stood from his spot on the ledge. "Take me home."

Mycroft nodded and mentally promised himself to have Sherlock put on suicide watch again. He didn't know what Sherlock was going to do now that he knew the truth about his illusions.

They made it all the way to the sliding front doors before something stopped them.

"Would Sherlock please come to the front desk," someone said over the loud speaker. "Would Sherlock please come to the front desk?"

All's Sherlock had to do to reach the front desk was turn and take five steps so he did just that despite Mycroft's insistence that they should go. "What do you need?" he asked the lady behind the desk.

"Are you Sherlock?" someone on his right said.

Sherlock turned to face Harrie Watson and nodded his head slowly. He had no idea how she could possibly know his name. She had probably seen it alongside his brother's name on the papers, but Sherlock couldn't shake the hope that maybe her brother had told her.

"My brother is asking for you." Because he couldn't leave Sherlock without a conscience.

* * *

Bet you didn't see this coming. I hope you guys enjoyed this story. Please remember to review.


End file.
